


Of course there's a winner (but losing is fun)

by luchia



Series: Fake Time Lord Society [2]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: (Yes Really), 2000 years of experience yet i still tag, Aftercare, F/M, Loss of Virginity, Nonbinary aliens with het sex capabilities, Post-Episode: s12e10 The Timeless Children, TARDIS profanity filter, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-17
Updated: 2021-02-17
Packaged: 2021-03-12 20:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29515485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luchia/pseuds/luchia
Summary: (Removed portion of Chapter 9 from the other fic in this series so I didn't punch people in the face with surprise smut.)“Is it safe to leave you alone with him?” Yaz asks.The Master grins, and is about to saynot one bitbut the Doctor beats him to it, spinning towards the humans and rocking back on her feet, talking with her hands, more about fidgety lying than anything else. “Oh, it’s fine, we’re fine, just, you know. Talking!”Behind her, the Master makes very visible quotation marks in the air during the wordtalking.
Relationships: The Doctor/The Master (Doctor Who), Thirteenth Doctor/The Master (Dhawan)
Series: Fake Time Lord Society [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2168193
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38





	Of course there's a winner (but losing is fun)

**Author's Note:**

> UNEDITED because I am LAZY and this wasn't supposed to exist. This is a removed portion of Chapter 9 of [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28983327/chapters/71126934), and I just yanked it out to post separately so the sudden change of rating didn't punch people in the face.
> 
> If you are just here for the porn, that is VALID and the only context you really need is they're on the TARDIS, the Master is manic, and everything is Weird Between Them for a wide variety of reasons. The anklet referenced is a timeline-binding device that makes sure the Master can't run off and scheme for 200 years and then pop back into the Doctor's timeline 20 minutes after he left; it would be 200 years for the Doctor too. This is particularly important because they're both immortal. Aaaaand also they're competitive assholes in love but with A Lot Of Baggage, off you go.

“Is it safe to leave you alone with him?” Yaz asks.

The Master grins, and is about to say _not one bit_ but the Doctor beats him to it, spinning towards the humans and rocking back on her feet, talking with her hands that is more about fidgety lying than anything else. “Oh, it’s fine, we’re fine, just, you know. Talking!”

Behind her, the Master makes very visible quotation marks in the air during the word _talking._

The Doctor, who is not (currently) blind, continues to face her fam as she elbows him in the stomach, like the asshole she is.

“If you’re avoiding witnesses, I’m going to make them wonder what you’re hiding,” the Master says, quiet enough that only the Doctor can hear. And then he does exactly that, brushing hair away from her ear. “You haven’t done jewelry before.”

And oh my, she actually _shivers_ a bit at that. All he does is try to annoy her and get a better look at her earring (it really is pretty) and it makes the Doctor _shiver._ It’s ridiculous. And marvelous.

It also gets her pets to evacuate at a record speed.

But the level of sensitivity also raises a genuine question, which is, “How often do you touch people?”

“This body isn’t big on physical contact,” the Doctor says, which is hilarious because the second he puts his fingertips on the side of her neck, a soft bit of curious contact, she lets out a shuddering breath. “That’s - I just don’t like it.”

“Clearly, you’re absolutely hating this,” he says, and steps closer, until her back is barely a finger’s width away from his chest. Her pulse is already a chaotic mess, just from _proximity._ Proximity and fingers sliding up and down her neck. And this was not his intention, _at all,_ but the Master lets her feel his breath against the back of her neck. “Ask nicely.”

“I’ve never needed to before,” she says, like it’s a challenge, or maybe a reprimand. And it’s true. The fact she presses back against him is usually _more_ than enough of an invitation.

But, not right now. It’s enough for him to press his other hand against her stomach - still fully clothed. “That was then, this is now, and _now_ you need to say please.” And the Doctor _tries_ to be irritated, but he moves his hand down, fingers reaching her waistband, and she lets out another shaky breath. Just that, and she’s tense in a very different way that makes him grin against the back of her neck. “One little word, just-”

“Please,” she blurts out.

Well.

That was easy.

There’s clearly _something else_ going on in her head about this, considering the way she unclips the braces and gets naked from the waist down at a speed more suited to escaping flesh-burning acid than sex. It is _very_ hard to not laugh at her, so he occupies his mouth by kissing the other side of her neck. He’s gentle about it, soft, and she can probably feel the smile but that’s fine. Smiling is fine. _Laughing,_ not so much if he doesn’t want her to smack him and walk away.

“I said please,” the Doctor says, and her hands are clenched into fists, arms rigid and still at her sides. “Please, _Master._ Is that what you need?”

“This _screams_ intimacy issues, just so you know,” he says against her skin, and obliges her, hand quickly sliding down her pelvis and pressing lightly between her legs. Even that, just an open palm, makes her gasp. It’s a _surprised_ gasp. Which...hm. The Master pulls his lips away from her neck. “Have you never-”

“I’m a busy person,” she defends, blushing, and everything makes more sense now. She’s looking away from him, breathing hard, hands touching nothing. Meaning part of the frantic pulse of her hearts is anxiety, or even fear.

He sighs into her ear, and pulls his hand away, ignoring her objection. “You’re right-handed this time?”

“Why?” the Doctor asks, suspicious.

The Master rolls his eyes, and moves his hand on her neck to bury it in her hair. The other hand, he wraps around what he _knows_ is her dominant whether she’ll confirm it or not. “Because we’ve clearly had opposite reactions to getting a vagina, which is a shame because it’s the _best,”_ he says, and coaxes her clenched fingers to open.

He expects complaining, or more objections when he unceremoniously moves their hands between her legs, but it’s just a sharp breath. Tension. Determination. Which means fucking her would probably be like rubbing sandpaper over his cock. Or maybe not. Maybe the complete opposite. 

“Let’s find out,” he whispers against her ear, and it’s not remotely elegant when he pushes their index fingers just barely inside her _very_ wet slit, just running her own finger against flushed pink skin she _clearly_ does not touch often enough. The Doctor gasps again, and squeezes her eyes shut - which is _not_ allowed, so he bites her neck just hard enough to make her -

Make her moan, apparently.

And when he uses the reaction as an opportunity to press their fingers inside of her, the Doctor shakes. Poor little virgin, the sensations are so _overwhelming_ for her when he slides their fingers out and then slowly pushes them back in. She’s already rocking into their hands, already trying to find a good rhythm.

The Master pulls his own hand away, and as expected, the Doctor keeps going. She makes a frustrated noise, but adds her middle finger and shudders, satisfied again, thrusting faster. And then she adds her ring finger, and gasps, head dropping back onto his shoulder.

“Look at you,” he says, and his hand in the Doctor’s hair moves down to her breast, still covered, but that doesn’t matter considering how hard her nipples are. Even through a bra and two shirts, she moans when he cups her, plays with her. “And we’re not even to the good part.”

He is _intimately_ aware that the Doctor knows at least the basics of good heterosexual fucking, but she still lets out a shout of complete _shock_ when he rubs two fingers over her clit. Thankfully, the Master was ready for her legs to give out, and he manages to keep her up until she’s recovered enough to stand on her own again. They don’t hold for very long, though, because he rubs her again and the Doctor whines, unoccupied hand grabbing behind - oh, to his head.

The Doctor turns his head towards hers, and she looks at him for the first time since this began.

Her cheeks are flushed, skin shimmering with a delicate amount of sweat (it’s a lot for her, after all), and the Doctor’s eyes meet his with a single-minded sort of feverish insistence when she breathes out, “More.”

“More what?” he asks, and starts to well and truly toy with her clit, trying to see what she likes best. It’s difficult to tell, considering she turns into a gasping mess. But the way she _shouts_ and shakes and comes for the first time with something close to tears seems like a pretty good indicator. He lets her pant, lets the Doctor catch her breath, and when she seems more coherent, the Master moves his hand from her breast to her hair, making her look down her own body. “Watch. This seems to be what you like best, so far.”

He rubs a gentle circle around her clit, almost lazy about it, and then pushes down _hard,_ like she’s a nuclear launch button and he’s ready for armageddon, and the Doctor lets out a yelp that turns into a shuddering moan, her _everything_ shaking apart in yet another orgasm.

“You like a little bit of pain,” he says, nice and conversational even while he’s rock hard against her ass but that’s fine, that’s not the _point,_ the point is how she’s whispering _please please please_ as she comes down again. The point is pressing his nose into her hair, feeling her shake against him, hearing her beg. The point is how soaked his hand is. How he thrusts three fingers inside of her brutally hard and all the Doctor does is groan and rock back down against him. The point is how what _really_ makes her moan is when he breathes out, “Good girl.”

“Master, please,” she says, and grinds back against his cock.

He makes a sympathetic noise, and shoves his fingers inside her again. And again. Gives her four fingers, but the moan turns into a _hiss_ so he goes back to three. “I know, I know. Maybe next time, if you’re good.”

“I’m being good _now,”_ the Doctor whines, because just like every other Doctor before her, all the way back to Theta’s first handjob, sex means she turns into a complete brat. Which he shouldn’t love, but does. It’s why her trouble saying _please_ is so hilarious - she certainly says it enough the second clothes start coming off.

With a sigh, the Master pulls his fingers out of her, and holds them up to the Doctor’s mouth. She hesitates for long enough that he pulls them away, says, “Then this is _literally_ on you,” and wipes his fingers clean on her shirt instead. The Doctor makes a disgusted noise, and he can’t help but laugh into her hair. “I know what sort of stuff you’ve put in that mouth, Doctor, how is _this-”_

“It’s different!” she says, and there’s a moment of clear uncertainty. “So you’re really not going to frick-” The Master’s laughing again, and she looks at the TARDIS console. Glares at it. “Not going to frick - oh come on, it’s not cursing, it’s a _verb,_ why - fine!” She switches into Gallifreyan, and he has a hard time listening because he’s laughing so hard and the language is _atrocious_ for anything like sex, made for precise temporally-aware scientific discussion, so the question is most accurately translated as, “In the current timeline of events between us do you (familiar and equal status Time Lord who is currently-male-but-not-always [and he appreciates the pronoun adjustment]) have a deliberate current intention in the near future of events for your currently-male-but-not-always penis and my currently-female-but-not-always vagina to be utilized in penetrative recreational intercourse, in our general understanding of events in a simplified cause and effect manner?”

There’s a reason they usually just speak Universal.

“Your mouth just gets filthier every second, doesn’t it,” the Master says, as if it’s the most scandalous thing he’s ever heard.

The Doctor rolls her eyes, and says, “Just answer me.”

“Well, you _do_ still need to put the anklet on me. I thought you could multitask down there,” he says, and the Doctor turns from vaguely upright jelly to a rigid warm body against him. Which does not make the Master happy.

And here’s the problem with how the Doctor turns into a brat, and why the Doctor does it in the first place: it works. Always has, and probably always will.

 _“But,_ I’m willing to negotiate,” he concedes, and slides a hand under her shirt.

“No, no, don’t feel _obligated,”_ the Doctor says, even though she starts taking off her shirt. Both of them, actually, and she tilts forward to get some extra space oh-so-innocently grinding back against him in the process. Then it’s just the bra, which is an efficient little thing, not remotely tantalizing other than the fact _she’s_ the one wearing it. “Oh, I’m not - give me a second.”

When she steps away from him, it’s like a jolt of ice in his veins, and the Master instinctively grabs her, pulls her back against him. Wraps his arms around her, buries his face in her neck. Breathes. _Breathes._

“Master?” she asks.

“I want you so badly, the _second_ you start walking away,” he says, _breathes,_ and keeps a tight hold on the Doctor. “And I hate it.” Hates how much he wants her, hates her walking away, hates how familiar it is - every version is true.

There’s a long, heavy moment, and then she turns around in his arms. The Master is too busy being surprised - honestly, he expected her to tease him - to stop her when the Doctor leans into him for a kiss. It starts small, hesitant, _gentle,_ but the Master isn’t in the mood for touchy-feely. He’s feeling a bit _ruthless,_ honestly, so yes, he kisses back. And he also shoves three fingers inside of her.

It’s undeniably the loudest noise the Doctor has made so far, something between a choked scream and an _extremely_ loud moan, and she drops her forehead to his fully clothed shoulder, panting as he pulls out and thrusts his fingers back inside. Again, and again, and when she spreads her legs wider, he says, “Oh, aren’t you a good girl.”

In reply, she kisses him again, hot and hard, and her fingers start working on his belt.

He _should_ stop her, should object to one more plan ruined, but instead he ends up moaning when her hands finally _finally_ reach his cock, fly undone, fabric pushed down barely enough to free him. This Doctor’s hands are the smallest by far, and when she strokes him, there’s such a contrast between the pressure and heat of _Doctor_ and _Not Doctor_ that it’s a shock. A very good, _good_ shock that leaves him groaning into her mouth.

“Come on, you know you want to,” the Doctor pants, already throwing a leg over his hip, which in turn leaves his fingers - oh _fuck_ , she’s lined herself up so well his wrist is bumping his own hip every single time he pulls his fingers out. It’d be so easy. “I want it. I want you, _please.”_

He’s an experiment. He’s trying to prove a point. They both are - they _always_ are - and he wants to win, he really wants to win, but he wants, _oh,_ he really really _really_ wants to fuck her.

The Doctor pulls her hand away from his cock to pull her bra off, which is atrocious, oh no, she pulls it off like a painfully tight little t-shirt, who taught her how to wear a bra _did anyone teach her_ probably not so he says, “That’s not how you do it, that was very wrong.”

 _“You’re_ wrong,” the Doctor says like they’re 20 again, hiding in a corner to make out and she’s _blonde_ and _oh,_ he slides right inside her. Nice and easy and hot, and tight, and good, and the Doctor moans, clings to his shoulders.

It’s hard to breathe, but it is _so fucking easy_ to fuck her, and he can read the Doctor by now even if it’s different equipment to monitor. It’s mostly in the noises. She shouts and whines and moans if it’s overwhelming her brain, she hisses if it’s bad, and if it’s good, she talks.

About five thrusts in, the moaning turns to such fast mindless babbling that the Master can barely register half of it, and that half is just the word _good._ The words go _up_ and _down,_ like a wavelength, and every particularly impactful thrust earns him a whine of static desperation as she tightens and pants and good is a very appropriate word for every fucking second of it.

Losing feels spectacular.

The Doctor comes just about the millisecond he touches her clit, one single rub and she’s shaking apart and the Master is brainless and stupid enough to hold her close, fuck her harder, and say, “I’ve got you, love, I’ve got you, you’re so good, so good for me, oh, for _me, please, Doctor, please.”_ He shouts, and comes inside her. Which was the exact opposite of his intention, but oh well. She seems to like it, shuddering, fingers clinging tight in his hair as she kisses him.

“I’m sitting down now,” he says after pulling out of her, ignoring the disappointed noise, and lets himself drop to the floor - makes it casual, controlled-looking and stuff, of course. It’s not very surprising when the Doctor follows him right on down, and right into his lap.

This is another Doctor thing. The cuddles. Apparently it’s a common thing, the urge to press close to your partner and kiss while still high on endorphins and orgasms. She’s filthy and ruining his pants but he’s fine with that. The TARDIS can give him more, and he likes the little noises she makes between kisses. Likes the things she says, telling him he’s good and special and pretty. With anyone else, the Master can’t get away from this sort of thing fast enough, but with _her,_ with the Doctor, well. It’s not uncommon for this part to go longer than the actual sex.

So when the door creaks open after who knows how long, that’s what they see and hear. The Doctor, naked in his lap, stroking fingers through his hair while the Master keeps his face pressed against her neck, pressing the occasional kiss against her skin, and listens to her saying, “So smart and pretty, so clever, with your _terrible_ plans that are so cute, just like you, Master. You’re so _good,_ make me feel so good, aren’t you so lovely.”

The door shuts again. It’s a _lot_ louder when it shuts than it was opening.

**Author's Note:**

> [Back to Chapter 9](https://archiveofourown.org/works/28983327/chapters/72515292), hope you're having a good day!


End file.
